The Clan MacDougall Series (95 page)

“Husband?” she whispered as she took his hand in hers. “Are ye no’ happy?”

Findley’s mind had been racing for several minutes. How could she remain so calm at a time like this? He had resigned himself to the fact that she was dying, only to learn she was carrying his babe. He wasn’t sure which one shocked his senses more.

He was stumbling over his own tongue and the only word he could manage to utter was “How?” He meant to ask how she could be so calm at a time like this. How could she be so relaxed and content when she was so ill? How on earth was he going to be a father? Suddenly he felt very weak and ill prepared for the task.

Maggy raised an eyebrow at him. “Findley, are ye serious?” she asked. “Surely ye understand how this happened! We canna be lovin’ each other mornin’, noon and night like we have and no’ expect a child to be the result!” Not only was he tetched, he was a bit slow as well! How, indeed!

Findley couldn’t resist the smile that came to his lips. “Lass, I ken the how of it! I meant, how can ye be so calm?”

Men. “Husband, I’ve been pregnant before. Although I must admit I was never this sick with Liam. I suppose I’m this ill because I carry your child and he’s sure to be just as stubborn as his father. But I’ll no’ allow him to grow to be as pig-headed.”

Findley chuckled and squeezed her hand. “And if it be a girl child ye carry, I’ll no’ let her be as hot-tempered as her mum!”

“Hot tempered? Me? I ken not what ye speak of!” Maggy chortled. “When a man grows angry and speaks his mind, he’s considered strong and intelligent. Let a woman act the same way and she’s hot-tempered. I dunna see the equality in that!”

Suddenly he felt quite fearful. A daughter? If she were half as beautiful as her mother, he’d have to spend most of his time fending off the lads. He’d need more swords. He’d need to build a moat around their castle to keep potential ne’er-do-wells and defilers of her virtue away. He’d need more men who would swear their fealty and allegiance to protect her honor.

He would need more men like Wee William! Aye, if he had a few dozen men as tall, big, strong and honorable as Wee William, he’d no’ have to worry about the countless fools who would be tripping over their tongues to get to his precious, innocent daughter!

Eunuchs. Dozens of them and all as big as Wee William. ’Twould be the only way to protect his beautiful daughter’s virtue.

“Findley?” Maggy was trying to gain his attention.

“Aye,” he mumbled before looking down into her green eyes. Och! Those eyes! If his daughter had those same eyes, he knew he was doomed. He’d never be able to deny those eyes anything. He was going to make a most miserable father!

“Findley!” she repeated. “Ye look ill!”

“I’m perfectly fine, wife!” he shook his head at her. Didn’t she realize they had much to do to prepare for their daughter’s arrival?

“Och! I swear ye’ll be the death of me!”

“Hold yer temper, wife! I’ve much to do!”

Maggy looked up at him. He could tell she was confused. Women.

“And what do ye have to do? I’m the one who has to carry this babe, then birth him, then there’s the feedin’, the changin’, the bathin’-”

Findley touched her lips with his finger. “Aye, but I be her da! I’ve moats to have dug, more men to bring in to protect her, weapons to amass! ’Tis a great responsibility you’re puttin’ on me wife!”

Aye, she’d married a tetched, pig-headed man. Her heart swelled with love and pride. He may be tetched and pig-headed, but she loved him. He was strong, braw, loyal and very honorable. He was already a wonderful father to her boys so she felt confident that he’d do well with all of the children they would have. And they would have many, many children.

He was going on about how he needed to protect their daughter from men who would want to steal away her virtue and her heart, but she wasn’t listening too closely. She was studying his face and marveled at how handsome he was, even when he was angry, as he was now, already worrying over the safety of a daughter that had yet to be born!

She had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Aye, he was going to make a wonderful father, even if he was a pig-headed fool. A verra handsome, pig-headed fool.

Book Three of The Clan MacDougall Series

By
Suzan Tisdale

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10: 0985544368

ISBN-13: 978-0-9855443-6-2

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

I am dedicating this book to my uncle,

Fred Dixon,

who passed away on March 5, 2013.

Fred was one of the most remarkable,

amazing men that I have ever known.

He loved to introduce me as “my niece Suzie, the author,” …

Words cannot begin to express what Fred meant to me and to those who knew him.

This book is for him.

Don’t be sad, we had fun.

For my children because you are amazing and

I love you beyond all measure

For my cousins…never let go of your dreams

For all my aunts and uncles…thanks for being awesome

And for all of my nieces and nephews.

A very special thank you to the following individuals who helped make this book possible:

Cover Artist—Seductive Musings

Photographer—Chricket Munson

Costumes—The Costume Trunk, Peoria, IL

Bairn
—baby

Wean
—toddler-a child just weaned from mamma’s breast

Fash
—to worry

Sporan
—pouch

Hogmany
—Scottish New Years

Chemise or shift
—an underdress or slip

Arisaid
—long panel of plaid that women wore draped around the waist, over a skirt or dress.

Trews
—pants

Tunic
—shirt

Pallet
—a thin mattress placed on the floor

Rushes
—Dried grass that was spread on floors to help keep things clean and warm

Och!
—means Oh!

Wheesht
—Ssshh, hush, be quiet

Haud yer wheesht
—hold your tongue

Sennight
—week, seven nights

Fortnight
—two weeks

Late Winter 1345

W
inter was unrelenting. It held on to the land as fiercely as a Highland warrior grasped his sword, refusing to let loose its grip and allow spring its turn.

The cold night air bit at the men who sat silently atop their steeds. Watching, waiting, looking for any movement, any sign of life that might stir in the cottage that lay below them. Gray smoke rising slowly from the chimney before disappearing into the moonlit night was the only sign of life coming from within the cottage.

Puffs of white mist blew from the horses’ nostrils like steam from a boiling kettle. The nine were draped in heavy furs, broadswords strapped to their backs, swords at their sides, and daggers hidden in various places across their bodies. If by chance anyone was awake at this ungodly hour, the sight of these fierce men would bring a chill of fear to even the bravest man.

Each man had been handpicked by his chief for the special qualities he held, whether it was his fealty, his fierceness, or his ability to enter a place unheard and unseen. ’Twas a simple task they’d been given: sneak in under the cloak of darkness and retrieve hidden treasures so they could be returned to their rightful owner.

The first inkling that things might not go as planned came from the fact that the night was not bathed in darkness as had been hoped. A full moon shone brilliantly, casting the earth in shades of blues, whites, and grays. Had they not been delayed two days by a snowstorm of near biblical proportions, they would have arrived two nights ago when it was certain to have been pitch black.

No worries, the leader of the nine had assured his men. The inhabitants of the cottage were more likely than not fast asleep at this hour. They would proceed with their mission, moon or no.

After studying the land and the cottage a while longer, the leader gave a nod of his head. He and his men proceeded toward the little farm, taking their positions around the perimeter. Two of his stealthiest men headed towards the barn where they dismounted and with the grace and silence of a cat, they entered.

The leader stood with two of his men not far from the entrance of the cottage. They waited patiently, keeping a close eye on the barn as well as the cottage. Everything seemed to be going as planned. But the leader of the band of retrievers would not breathe a sigh of relief until they were far away from these God-forsaken English lands. The longer he remained on English soil, the dirtier he felt and the more anxious to return to his homeland he became.

He wished he could break down the door of the cottage and slit the throats of the three bastards inside. His chief had shot that idea down, but not before thinking on it for a long moment. The chief had admitted nothing would have brought him greater pleasure than knowing the bastards would not live to see the light of another day. But he could not allow his men to take the chance of being found and taken to the gallows.

Nay, their mission was simple and if all went well, no blood would be shed this night. In a matter of days, should the weather hold, the treasures would be returned and the men handsomely rewarded for their efforts.

Uneasiness began to creep under the leader’s skin. The men in the barn were taking too long. Concern began to well in his belly. If the treasures weren’t where they should be, he’d have no problem then in busting down the door to the cottage and killing the men inside. He shuddered when he thought of returning empty handed. ’Twas a possibility he did not enjoy. He swore under his breath he’d tear this farm apart until he found what he had come for.